


The Experiments of 221B (Do Not Try At Home)

by Coatcollars



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Boyfriends, Lovers?, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:14:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coatcollars/pseuds/Coatcollars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Sherlock goes to far with his experiments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Experiments of 221B (Do Not Try At Home)

**Author's Note:**

> I NeED TO GET thIS bETTAD

"John! No! stop! stop! stop!" he bound into the kitchen and threw himself between John and his latest experiment. (Testing the effect on different kinds of optical organs on all of the animal kingdoms Sherlock could get his hands on)

John had a wide beaker with cow eyes floating eerily in formaldehyde, bumping against each other and back against the glass.

"John! No, no please." he begged taking the glass from his boyfriends reluctant hands and setting it on the table behind him. "It's important, I know it smells but don't--"

"Sherlock." John interrupted angrily, "You can't leave them here, I put up the rule list and you still do things like--." He pointed behind him at the fleshy object that was carefully spread out like a spider web, kept open with needles and surgical pokers

"Veins, from the eye." Sherlock stated proudly.

"How did you even--? Never mind. But you're cleaning this up," he prodded him in the center of his chest. "Not me."

Sherlock grinned and grabbed Johns shoulders, kissing him on the forehead and making a loud sound. "I promise. Thank you John."

"Yeah whatever," he said blushing "just make sure you don't get that stuff on me, alright?"

* * *

 

John woke up, curtains drawn, as usual, (Sherlock liked it that way) letting very little light in though it was most-likely past noon.

He yawned and his hands rattled against the bed frame. "What the fu--"

The second thing he noticed in the morning- Handcuffed

Third- No Sherlock

Fourth- It had to be at least 15 fucking degrees

Fifth- His sleep shirt was removed, as well as all the bedding

This left him with the conclusion of laying alone in a darkened room, confined to a piece of bare furnisher, cold, and in nothing but his boxers. Un-surprisingly aroused.

"Um Sherlock?" he called, unsure of _where_  he was exactly.

He got a reply almost immediately, "Hmm?" Sherlock murmured from the floor, sitting against the bed. He clicked on a mini torch to the ceiling and the room lit blue. He had a pen stuck in his mouth and dropped it to his hand "You're up! Excellent!" he picked up his clip board, seemingly out of nowhere and wrote in his slanting handwriting.

"Erm, Sherlock? What is this?" he shook his wrist against the metal making clanking sounds.

"An experiment!" he perched his chin on the side on the bed and his eyes lit up, his mess of hair falling on his ghostly-lit forehead.

"Oh my-- Sherlock." he hissed "We agreed none on me!"

"Yes, but technically it not on _you_  just the human body."

"Fuck, Sherlock." he sighed. He tried. He really tried to be patient. But damn it was cold and it was a Sunday and-- "Get me out."

"John,"

"Sherlock."

"Just a few more temperatures. I'll be done soon, I just need to do another cold, and then two other things and--" he made his eyes big, licked his lips making them the slightest bit glossy. He looked at him expectantly. "Please?"

John closed his eyes and sighed with his whole body, (shivering if you will) "Fine. But this is the last time." he said putting emphasis in the last two words.

The brunette smiled widely.

"Yeah. But you owe me Sherlock Holmes." John said

Sherlock pushed himself up to his feet and hummed, "Whatever you want, really John, your helping me immensely with my research."

He squirmed trying to warm himself with friction against the mattress, "It's not going to hurt right?" he asked next, remembering Sherlock's last experiment with him which included pricking him with boundless objects.

"No, No. Just temperature changes." he consoled as he waved his hand, "No pain"

"Alright. Just, get it over with already." He was becoming anxious, handcuffs not being the most comfortable thing either.

Sherlock ran to the bathroom and clambered around, making promising noises throwing something (ice?) around and setting something plastic in the sink.  
Something broke to the tile floor, toothbrush holder, John thought.  
He rolled his eyes when Sherlock came in with a plastic bucket, sloshing around the water messily, with his 'Testing' face on.

The man set the bucket down on the floor next to him and sat his knees, wringing out a small towel.  
All Sherlock said was "Shock" when he laid the freezing fabric on John's abdomen.

It sent chills down his body and he writhed a bit at this strange torture Sherlock called an experiment. He bit his lip and Sherlock felt his forehead and documented something, frowning slightly.

"Sherlock?" his teeth were chattering.

"We'll move on to heat soon John." he said tenderly. He didn't look up.

He shivered again and closed his eyes.

He imagined himself in the handcuffs, happy, fully naked, with a matching Sherlock straddling him, rubbing against him, licking him, moaning his name. Exquisitely warm. John liked that. A lot in fact.

"Ready?" Sherlock asked, with a hand full of ice.

His eyes snapped open and he realized he was smiling immensely.  
"Uh yeah," he clenched his belly, waiting for the worst.

Sherlock nodded and moved the ice in his hands, wetting them thoroughly. They were pale and cold, almost numbing; then he placed his palms on Johns chest. He moved his fingers lower above his ribs.

John breathed harder, it was almost impossible. Sherlock's long fingers matched into the not-too defined ruts and stayed there until the blonde was coughing deeply. He tore them away as well as the towel still on him.

Johns voiced rasped "Done?"

"How did it feel?"

"Like an frozen iron cast was prodding at my lungs."

Sherlock was rubbing his hands together, "Good. Heat soon, John. But you have to stay here," he added "until the air conditioning sets back to normal and your body temperature is regular."

"Thank you." he huffed

He made a noise of approval and left the room, John heard the AC shut off seconds later and Sherlock came in with a hair dryer in about a minute.

"So your going to toast me with that?" John said praying he didn't have matches or a lighter in his pockets

"Seems so. Feel warm yet?"

"Still cold. And wet."

"Ah."

Sherlock walked over to the curtains and drew them open letting light stream on the bed. He turned on the bedside lamps and the small one in the dresser, as well as the closet and bathroom.

John thought this was some sort of atmospherics temperature sensitive test, he was right. But he stopped thinking once Sherlock crawled into the bed and twined his hands around his neck.

"You gonna warm me up?"

"If you don't mind" Sherlock said sending hot breaths down his chest that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"No please I'm freezing"

"Sorry," he murmured against his neck, "had to"

John smiled and hummed pleasurably "It's okay, just-- continue the heating"

Sherlock carried on his process, breathing and touching and rubbing John until they were both warm.

 

He rolled of the bed after retreating from John's lips, leaving him warm and giddy. Plugged in the hair dryer to the wall socket and turned it on abruptly. He pointed it to his stomach, (the same spot where the cold towel was) and moved it up and down.

warm. chest. stomach. chest. stomach. chest. stomach. hot. chest. stomach. burning.

"Ow! Easy Sherlock, please" John whimpered the same time he was curling his back into the mattress desperatly trying to escape.

He left it for a few more seconds with his eyebrows knitted together in concesntration. He turned it off and threw it on the floor. (Hazardous.) Studied the trail of pink he left on Johns skin and pressing his palm on the red part above his belly button.

"Thank you John" he said wetting his lips and smiling. He then kissed him gently on the burn, "Your wonderful, So much data"

Insane, absolutely insane.

John laughed, "Just un-cuff me, Yeah?"

"But you look sexy." he pouted against his skin "Really, I think I could pay you back now."  
The taller man snaked his hand in John's boxers, lifting up the waist band and moved his fingers expertly around and on the sensitive skin.

"Ah! Sherlock, Yeah now. Now's good." John gasped

* * *

 

Sherlock experiments bothered John. For sure. But Sherlock had never really done anything relatively /bad/ (well there was that one time but they had resolved that) John never left the flat because of them, never really shouted at him except for light scoldings, no terrible arguments that lasted more than an hour. Really, John was extremely patient with him. He loved him, (so much) and seemed to accept that Sherlock just wanted to expand his knowledge. It was okay, he thought.

* * *

 

He had said he was off to do an experiment, for John not to come in. Sherlock had locked himself in the bathroom and that's it. That alone was enough to peak Johns curiosity; he sat on the couch and turned on the television instead

He ignored the cracking sound and the clank of metal, pushing it away with a sigh.

About four minutes later, John got up.

"Um Sherlock? he pressed his ear against the door and set his hand on the knob, "you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm okay." Sherlock said, his words were slurred, drunken, weary.

"Sherlock?."

No reply

"Oh my God Sherlock," he panicked. What was it? Had he relapsed? He didn't smell anything. He banged his hand to the door, frustrated with the lock, "Sherlock what is it? Open the door!"

"Can't. Experiment."

"Yes you can. Open the door."

John heard a click and the door unlocked, followed by the sound of a body hitting the tile.

"Sherlock?"

He was on the floor, legs pulled up to his chest, laying on his side. His face was damp and pink. He had his eyes closed tightly and biting his bottom lip, seemed to be stifling tears. cradling his arm to his chest and John fell to his knees, pushed Sherlock on his back and peeled his arm back, carefully.

His once pale skin was flustered red, smeared with blood and decorated with parallel cuts over his forearm. Criss-crossed scratches littered his wrist and a blade from one of Johns razors was clenched in his hands.

"Oh God no." John lifted Sherlock from the floor and leaned him the the wall, John was shaking and Sherlock was frighteningly still. Be was scared and just-- confused.

"John it's okay-- I'm okay." he breathed, "It's a controlled... experiment."

"Sherlock you Idiot." he muttered, "You Fucking Idiot! You don't do this-- You could have killed yourself, don't--" John held the arm to his face and Sherlock winced when he gripped it tighter "You can't do this."

Sherlock opened his mouth and closed it. He tried to pull it away but was too weak.

"I'm taking you to the hospital." he said firmly. He dragged him up by his armpits and sat him on the closed toilet. Sherlock murmuring words of protest as he did.

"No Don't" he exasperated fighting to sit up, his right arm fell on Johns shoulder instead.

"Well you are." John pursued, pressing his hand to the cuts and groping for toilet paper as a temporary bandage. "You're gonna go to the hospital and your going to eat--" he ran water on the sensitive skin and grabbed a wash-cloth to set the wound, "And your going to drink lots of water and vitamins Sherlock. God knows why you did this--"

"It's an experiment!" The man defended weakly. "Just a test..."

"Yeah, well..." John wrapped his arms around his torso and pulled him out of the bathroom, "No more Sherlock. Please."

He groaned and dropped his head into his neck, murmuring something that sounded like an "okay", but it was barely recognizable from his mouth.

John carried him out and placed him on the couch, why did he do this? what the /hell/ was he thinking? He held his arm in his lap, he really didn't need a hospital, John could provide for him. A couple bandages, sleep, and a meal would definitely be okay.  
"Hey Sherlock," he said brushing the hair out of his eyes, "I'm gonna get you some food. Eat okay?" his voice was firm but soothing at the same time, quiet enough for sleep to enthrall Sherlock, John gripped his bicep hard enough to bruise, "Okay? I won't take you to the hospital if you cooperate; remember I'm your doctor"

"Okay" he smiled faintly

"Good." The blonde wiped his eyes and sniffed when he rose from the couch and to the kitchen, he opened the fridge: Left overs and scraps of sandwiches, almost rotting vegetables, thumbs and what looked like ears on the bottom shelf, and take out from God knows when. John moved around multiple things and found fresh yoghurt (miracle), he also grabbed a water bottle and baguette from the counter he had bought yesterday.

He jogged over to the limp body huddled on the couch and sat on the coffee table next to him. John broke the bread and put it in Sherlock's hands, he brought it up to his mouth and bit into it questionably while John opened the yoghurt container and set it on the table. He ran to the kitchen for a spoon and a glass which he had forgotten earlier, and Sherlock munched on his bread silently following him with his eyes.  
He held up the spoon of it to Sherlock's lips, nudging it forward.

"I hate yoghurt." he said

"It has vitamins, eat."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened his mouth reluctantly, and John pushed the spoon in. He swallowed and crinkled his nose. The cycle was repeated and soon the container was almost empty and John held the glass of water to Sherlock, where he drank.

"You feel better?" he asked wiping away crumbs from his cheeks.

"Yes." he leaned into his hand and closed his eyes "I'm sorry, I didn't carry out the procedure well enough, I suppose it didn't work."

He wondered if Sherlock understood the emotional content of bringing a razor to your skin, taking a deep breath pushing it to your wrist. He had done this for an experiment; they had had a case weeks before where a young girl had died on her bed, her wrist open and scars coiled around the rest of her body, silver and thick. Sherlock had been curious; asking John questions and researched, but he had never thought he would do this. Ever.

"Just don't do it again Sherlock, you idiot, don't do this." he held his hand and kissed his cheek very softly practically melting on the surface. "I love you a lot and this was just-- really not good."

Three words he was never tired if hearing, never boring. It was different each time like a small shock in his chest that made his heart come to life, a key turning and gears rumbling and awakening to an ancient apparatus in his rib cage. "I love you John," his lips curled at the edges like a flowers stem would grow, "But I'm okay, really" he added shaking his arm where the toilet paper hung and stuck grotesquely. "I was in more shock of the blood suddenly erupting from my arm then the actual loss."

"Yeah I know." even though he wasn't to sure about that, he still felt a wave of relief. "So just your arm then, nowhere else?" he lifted Sherlock's shirt up from the bottom to check his hips and stomach. Clean.

He murmured a 'yes' and nodded his head,"The experiment was the effects on the arm. Nowhere else." he agreed.

"That's good." he paused for a moment and peered in Sherlock's eyes and studied his face, "I'll order takeout later." he finished. He still didn't look well and this was a perfect excuse to make him eat much more then he usually did.

The brunette nodded and took Johns hands in his, "You're a wonderful doctor." he whispered.

"Yeah but I don't usually kiss my patients," John smiled

Sherlock laughed and set a pair of pale lips to John's fingers, kissing each slowly. "I feel privileged" he said softly.

He chuckled and moved his hip to Sherlock's side, "Ha, I guess you are...." he smiled again, "Budge over, your about to get another privilege"

Sherlock moved to the inside of the sofa and John grabbed the plaid throw they kept. He laid it on them once he was situated by Sherlock's side with his laying head on John's chest and John's lips buried in his mess of dark hair.

"You had me scared;" he said eventually, "You looked so awful and broken, I thought you were going to pass out."

"You weren't the most stable either John, you were shaking my entire body when you held me."

"Shut up." he laughed a little and enclosed his arms around him. "I'm going to sleep, you?"

"Mmhm, sounds good" Sherlock murmured against him.

* * *

 

"Oi! careful with those." John called from the table. Sherlock was scraping out a knee cap with a scalpel, it was too hard and he was pushing down on it, clearly frustrated. John worried it might slip.

"Oh my God." he groaned, You're giving me fucking anxiety, move over."  
John took the sharp object from Sherlock's hands and set it on the table, reaching for a mallet and spike instead; he chiseled away the tendon and cracked the cartilage down the middle (With little effort.) He looked back at Sherlock proudly, "Good huh?"

Sherlock looked at the object he had struggled with and it was now perfectly open to test on. John was amazing.

"You surprise me sometimes, always pleasantly, I'm never disappointed with you." he moved towards him and set his hands on John's waist.

He took this as a compliment, Sherlock was always hard expressing himself, and reached his arms around that long pale neck John liked so much. "You're still the most complex person I know." he said, and stood on his toes and kissed Sherlock, bending his head down to John's level. Sherlock slid his thumb in Johns belt loop and cupped his lower back with a tender hand, tracing his other hand along his jaw line. He opened his mouth and smiled when Sherlock nibbled at his lip, and grazed his tongue along Sherlock's bottom lip. John moaned when Sherlock slipped his tongue over his, he returned the gesture by sucking ever so slightly in his mouth (perks of being with Sherlock, he thought) He tugged down on his neck when he stood flat on his feet (breath) pulling away from the kiss and gazing up at him as if in a trance.

"Did I ever tell you you are an excellent kisser?" he asked caressing the back of his neck.

"As are you, I think we make a splendid pair"

John chuckled, "Of course we do."


End file.
